Cathexis: Necromancer's Dagger

by Philip Blood

  “Is it true that hordes of the souldead roam those mountain peaks?” Lady Margret asked with a shudder.

  “No, the numbers of the souldead are often exaggerated. They are not often seen anymore as many have been hunted down and dispatched, however, the danger from the remaining souldead is the reason that driken soup is considered a rare delicacy.”

  “If the souldead have been hunted, it follows that the survivors must be the meanest, smartest and toughest of the gruesome bunch,” interjected Lord Brik.

  “Undoubtedly true, though I have never encountered one myself, so I cannot speak from experience,” replied Elizabeth politely.

  Lord Tysol was seated midway down the table on Elizabeth’s right and he now spoke harshly, “Of course not, hunting is a man’s sport and the weaker sex should leave it to those more suited to the pursuit.”

  Elizabeth was instantly on alert, prompted by her aura observation of Lord Tysol’s falsehood earlier. The sorceress considered her response: What is his game behind this obvious insult of women? Is he trying to anger me? She decided not to let him succeed, so she raised her eyebrows as if in surprise and asked, “Why do you believe that, milord? Do you refer to the obvious physical difference between the sexes?”

  “Women are certainly inferior to men physically, however, I also refer to the temperament of women; they are not suited for a straightforward, open and honest battle. Confronted with the Desecrator’s souldead a woman would probably cower behind the protection of a man,” Lord Tysol proclaimed.

  Elizabeth read his surface thoughts and watched his shifting aura colors to see the true meaning behind his words. She knew he was trying to insult her, and wondered if he was really the simple sexist his words proclaimed, but she could see he believed what he said was the truth. “So, you think women are dishonest cowards?” Elizabeth probed.

  “Those are not precisely the words I said,” responded Lord Tysol, though in his surface thoughts Elizabeth read that he agreed with her words completely. The fiery colors of his aura changed their patterns as he lied.

  Elizabeth frowned at him slightly as she replied, “Perhaps not precisely, but I was close enough. This interests me... so let’s examine your two accusations one at a time. Do you think that a woman’s meek temperament is a product of her environment, or do you think women are inherently cowards?” Elizabeth inquired curiously.

  “I think it is in a woman’s nature to be outwardly timid,” he replied in a light flippant tone as if speaking to a simpleton.

  “Outwardly?” Elizabeth prompted casually.

  “Yes, confronted with an open battle a female will outwardly act timid to finagle some poor male into putting themselves at risk to protect her feigned frailty.”

  Elizabeth caught something in his mind about Jatar, but it was too fragmented to be completely coherent. Her attention was suddenly drawn to the patterns of his aura and what she read as courage suddenly flared up in brighter colors. That was extremely odd, almost as if some outside force was bolstering his confidence.

  Tysol didn’t notice her deepening frown and continued speaking. “A man will come at a problem honestly while it’s a woman’s way to use a convoluted path, a manipulative approach versus a straightforward solution. Women use their reputation of soft helpless timidity to trick naive men into protecting them; it disgusts me.”

  “I see, and that’s where the dishonest part comes in, right? Women trick men into things, instead of doing them for themselves. Do I have all this correct?”

  “You have an amazingly good grasp of the idea for having just heard it,” Lord Tysol replied, his voice rising and taking on an insulting tone.

  Jatar had been listening in to the last part of their conversation along with most of the table. When Tysol barked his obvious insult at Elizabeth, Jatar decided that it was time he put a stop to the man. “Tysol, I will not put up with your insults of my wife, now apologize for insinuating that she is being dishonest and manipulative.”

  Tysol’s aura patterns flared up again with more courage and Elizabeth suddenly picked up the clear passage of a thought flowing across Tysol’s conscious mind. At last, she read Tysol’s true aim clearly; he was using his arguments about women’s dishonest natures to bait Jatar into protecting his wife’s honor! And with courage flaring in his aura, it was simple for him to overcome any fear. Elizabeth tried to stand up and put a stop to what was happening, but she was too late.

  Standing up just before Elizabeth, Lord Tysol faced Jatar disdainfully and barked, “Normally I wouldn’t think a man such as you could be manipulated by a woman, but not all women have the same abilities; these Kirnath monsters have powers of deception far beyond that of normal women.”

  Jatar leaped to his feet knocking over his chair. He was angry and quite shocked that Tysol would so openly insult his wife.

  Elizabeth tried to interject something from the other end of the table, but Jatar spoke over her in his anger. “You will depart these premises immediately and were it not for the traditional promises of your safety at this table I would call you out now.”

  “Her womanly cowardice is rubbing off on you Jatar, you are afraid to face me in a duel, so you use this excuse to avoid honorable battle. Well, I release you from the traditional host protection,” and then Lord Tysol pulled his dagger from his belt and slammed it point first into the table.

  Jatar’s eyes narrowed with grim anticipation as he headed for Tysol and said in a low calm voice that hid his anger well, “Then according to the rules of the Duel we shall meet before the day is done, at ten before the twelfth bell. May your soul find its way to the Dark Plane,” Jatar added and punctuated his sentence by slamming his dagger into the table next to Tysol’s, thereby officially accepting the challenge.

  Tysol plucked his dagger from the table and spun on his heel to stalk out of the room.

  Lord Jatar pulled his dagger out as well, and after a moment to gather in the reins of his anger, he addressed the rest of his shocked guests, “I would like to apologize for this outburst, please continue with your dinners.” He then turned and caught the eye of a kitchen servant to signal that the next course should be brought to the table. Once everything seemed in order he added, “Please excuse me, I must go and prepare.”

  During her husband’s speech, Elizabeth sat back in her chair, stunned. Too late she realized that Lord Tysol had maneuvered her and the conversation to get Jatar into this duel. He had done it with the skill of a master tactician. As the host of the dinner Jatar would have been prepared to accept veiled insults with outward calm in an attempt to keep peace at this dinner to honor his son; however, by insulting his wife Tysol made Jatar angry enough to react to the personal insult without thought.

  As she stood to follow Jatar out of the Banquet Hall Elizabeth replayed her conversation with Tysol through her mind, but she still could not believe he had the brains capable of maneuvering them so easily.

  From across the table Major Harland Von Dracek, one of the three conspirators and the real master tactician, smiled with satisfaction. With only the final scene to be acted out, the result of a year’s hard work would be accomplished. The following day would see the conspirator’s plan fulfilled.

  Jatar was pacing back and forth in the sitting room while Elizabeth sat with her arms crossed deep in thought. She shook her head sadly and said, “I feel so stupid, I was reading his surface thoughts and I still didn’t see this coming in time to warn you! A fine Sorceress I turned out to be.”

  “Don’t be too hard on yourself, as I understand it you can only read a person’s thought just before they speak or act. I was the one who jumped in with my ego, at least you were trying to find out what he was up to,” Jatar answered, disgusted with himself.

  Elizabeth continued to stare sightlessly and then said, “I should have been able to handle him, but I just couldn’t figure out what he was trying to accomplish. He obviously orchestrated the whole thing, that’s easy to see in retrospect. What I don't understa
nd is why he wanted to face you in a duel? Barring an accident you’ll tear him apart.”

  “I don’t understand that either. I could see him plotting a sneaky and underhanded maneuver to undermine my reputation with the other Lords, but I would have thought him too cowardly to actively seek out a duel. Something is giving him enough confidence to challenge a swordsman with a fairly skillful reputation,” Jatar replied in a puzzled tone as he continued to pace about the room.

  “That’s what worries me,” Elizabeth responded in a quiet voice. “You understate your abilities with the sword, and your reputation. There is something treacherous going on here, but I can’t quite put my aura on it. At the dinner I saw something odd in Tysol's patterns, courage suddenly expanded just as he challenged you to the duel. Not only that but as Tysol departed I clearly caught one of his thoughts; he believes he can kill you."

  Jatar pondered this new information and looked for some logical explanation.

  His wife's voice hardened to steel, "Well there is one thing I’ll do for you, when you’re both sworn into a fair duel I’ll watch his aura to see if he lies. If he speaks falsehood then I’ll drag out the truth. In a fair duel, I know you will take him easily, so it follows that if I make sure the fight is fair, all will be well.”

  “Midnight is only a half bell away; I should change into something more appropriate for swordplay and begin warming up,” Jatar decided.

  “I want to check on Michael, something is wrong here, I’m sure of it, I just don’t know what.” With an apprehensive look, Elizabeth headed for the nursery to see their young son.

  A coach pulled by two pitch-black horses clopped to a halt on Tanner street. Exhalations jetted from the dark horses' nostrils like sporadic bursts of steam from the spout of a boiling teapot. The shades over the coach windows were closed to give the lone occupant privacy from the groups of drunken commoners that staggered along the city streets looking for their next tavern. The coach’s occupant waited inside until the street was empty. That didn’t take long, this was a seedy part of town and most of those celebrating avoided it instinctively.

  A cloaked shape left the coach when it was only a half bell until midnight. He crossed the rough uneven street swiftly. The cobblestones were already wet with the night’s dew and a mist was just beginning to form.

  Major Von Dracek left the coach in the care of his driver and slipped into the dark maw of a silent alley mouth. Two alley purclaws were startled and scrambled to get out of his way. The major paused at a rough wooden door on the right side of the narrow alley and listened to make sure no one was near. Once satisfied that he was alone he took out a single key from beneath his black cloak and inserted it into the waist-high iron lock. The rusty mechanism opened reluctantly after one revolution of the key, and the sound of the grinding metal lock screeched eerily in the stillness of the night.

  The conspirator slipped inside and closed the door quickly as if trying to keep the darkness outside at bay. From there it was only a short walk down the dim hall to the door at the end. Just as he reached the door a dead raspy voice spoke from the other side of the wooden portal. The voice was unmistakably that of CAracusS, the necromancer, which Von Dracek remembered from a year ago at the secret meeting of the three conspirators.

  “You may enter, Major, the way is open,” CAracusS rasped.

  The Tchulian merc stepped into the dingy room and saw the necromancer. He sat in the room's only chair and in front of him there was a small round table. The dingy room was dimly lit by a single tallow candle on the old table, which was stuck in a pewter candle holder near the bony fingers of the necromancer's veined hands.

  “Are you ready to go?” Von Dracek inquired, obviously in a hurry.

  “Is everything going as planned at the palace?” CAracusS asked in return while remaining in his chair.

  “Perfectly; in less than a half bell Lord Jatar will enter into his duel with our fool, Lord Tysol. That should keep his wife’s attention and more importantly, her powers, focused on his safety, but we must hurry to get back to the palace in time.”

  CAracusS scowled in disapproval at the major, which caused the myriad of wrinkles in his brow to dig even deeper trenches in the lines of his ancient face. “I’ll tell you straight, I don’t like this part of your plan where I’m drugged. You didn’t mention that detail at the planning meeting, just in the most recent message that you sent along with the guard uniforms,” the necromancer grated.

  “It’s the only way, I didn’t know it was necessary until my last communication from Raven,” Von Dracek lied. He'd known from the beginning but wanted to make sure the necromancer did not have a chance to argue. “My spy at the Kirnath School said that a full Adept like Elizabeth Ardellen could sense your conscious necromantic powers from quite a distance. She might sense you even when she is occupied, and I concur. I can sense you from a short distance myself, and my training hasn’t been refined in that area. The only way to be safe is to bring you into the palace drugged and nearly unconscious while her attention is taken up with her husband’s struggle. Then if I can’t sense you, we’ll be fairly certain that she can’t from an even further distance. Tomorrow I will wake you with the drug’s antidote while the sorceress is at the church away from the palace. Then you can open the gate to the Dark Plane.”

  CAracusS grimaced as he tried to pull his thin cracked lips back into the semblance of a smile. “And when Jatar’s soul is destroyed, I will have his young body. Explain again why it is that you have some of these Kirnath powers, yet are not one of them?” the necromancer asked slyly.

  “As I’ve told you before, necromancer, that is none of your business. Just take my word for it that I have some of the Kirnath skills,” the major answered curtly. “Do you have everything you need to open the rift to the Darkness?” he asked, changing the subject back to the details of their plot.

  CAracusS' eyes narrowed at the rebuke, but he answered the merc’s question. “Two of my servants have a drugged man in the next room; he’ll need to be carried. Will my men have a problem entering the palace carrying a body?”

  “Have they ever bargained with the Darknulls?” Von Dracek asked in reply.

  “No, they are not necromancers,” CAracusS assured the merc.

  “Then the sorceress will not sense them, so they’ll be no problem. If anyone takes note of your men carrying him I will say he’s drunk, there is plenty of that going on this night.” The Merc reached into his pocket and pulled out a small vial of powder. “Here is the drug I have prepared. Don’t worry CAracusS, when the time comes I will give you the antidote and you will come to your full senses within a half bell.”

  CAracusS looked at the vial dubiously.

  Von Dracek ignored his look and continued. “You better call your men in for their instructions, we don’t have much time. The duel will commence soon and if our plan is to work it is imperative we reach the palace just as it starts.”

  As Von Dracek finished speaking he pulled out the cork from the vial in his hand and carefully poured out a small amount of gray powder into CAracusS’ upturned palm.

  “Tatrin pollen,” Von Dracek explained, answering the inquiring look of CAracusS’ upraised eyebrow.

  The necromancer called his two men into the room. “This is Major Von Dracek and you are to follow his orders explicitly; do you understand? Good, now go and load the man you captured earlier into the coach out back.”

  After the two henchmen acknowledged CAracusS’ orders they went to do his bidding.

  CAracusS looked at the powder Von Dracek had given him and paused before he brought it to his mouth. “There better be no treachery here major, or death will be your best choice of futures.” After finishing his threat the necromancer swallowed the powder and washed it down from a wine sack on the table. Within moments, his cadaverous body became rigid and unmoving in his chair.

  “Stand up and follow me,” commanded Von Dracek. Induced by the tatrin pollen’s effect, CAracusS obeyed mechanic
ally.

  The necromancer, his two men and the captive were all dressed in the livery of Tchulian guards, which matched the driver of the coach. Upon reaching the vehicle Von Dracek commanded the drug enthralled CAracusS to enter and sit down. One of the necromancer’s men rode up top with the driver while Von Dracek and the others rode within the dark interior of the coach.

  A drunken reveler had paused to watch them enter the dark coach and depart. He decided that wherever that morbid party was headed was a good place to avoid; he was smarter than he knew.

  With Michael safely guarded by men whose loyalty Lady Elizabeth had just confirmed through aura truth test, she felt confident enough to focus her attention on the action about to happen within the ballroom. She gazed about the room while letting her aura perceptions rest for a moment on each noble present. None of their auras showed her anything but excitement for the upcoming spectacle.

  Elizabeth noted the absence of the Tchulian major and grew uneasy. She remembered him talking with Lord Tysol earlier, prior to the dinner. She wondered if he was with Tysol now to give him a few last pointers for the duel. Lady Ardellen figured that Von Dracek would gravitate toward a combatant since he was a professional mercenary, and they just loved to see a fight. It was obvious that he would side with Tysol; Tchulians were professional mercenaries, working for the highest bidder, and their dislike for Lindankar policies for peace was public knowledge. Elizabeth decided to check and see if he was indeed with Lord Tysol, and if not she needed to find out what the Tchulian was planning.

  Jatar came in with his three foster brothers accompanying him like escorts to the flagship; they were acting as his official seconds. The large and red-bearded Lord Berelle Trask walked in front of Jatar, while Lord Pellev and Lord Verdew followed behind. Berelle led the way through the throng like an icebreaker ship in the frozen waters of his northern homeland.